


It's better than an opera

by heroofcanton



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: F/M, M/M, Strippers & Strip Clubs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-11
Updated: 2017-09-11
Packaged: 2018-12-26 14:09:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,761
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12060585
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/heroofcanton/pseuds/heroofcanton
Summary: Grantaire's just trying to make some money, not get a crush on a hot costumer





	It's better than an opera

**Author's Note:**

> Do I know anything about strip clubs? No.  
> Should I be studying? Yes.  
> Was I gonna let any of that stop me from writing this? No.
> 
> Seriously, I know absolutely nothing about strip clubs, if there's anything you want me to fix, please tell me.

Grantaire hurried through the backroom of The Musain, trying to unwrap his scarf and drink the last of his coffee simultaneously. He was late, and the over-all messiness of the room didn’t help. He tripped over a shoe or a boa at least three times, plus he had to dodge other dancers, who were in a hurry as well. There were ridiculous costumes everywhere, people yelling, people stretching, people putting make-up on, and Grantaire could swear he just saw leopard-printed spandex flying through the air somewhere.

He passed Irma Boissy, who was frantically touching up her make-up while talking on her phone. She caught his eyes in the mirror and winked, returning his smile. Éponine was in the corner, talking to her kid brother, who somehow sneaked in _again_ , even though Grantaire knows that security isn’t allowed to let him in anymore. Though, to be fair, a strip club wasn’t the worst that kid has seen in his life.

He waved at them, and Éponine just glanced at him distractedly, while Gavroche returned the wave enthusiastically. Grantaire made his way to one of the empty stations, dumping his bag on the table. He was exhausted, having already worked a shift at the library, plus he spent most of his night working on a paper. He would have called in sick, but he needed the money. Plus, he highly suspected the manager would have fired him if he did, and he really did not have the time to look for another job.

So, Grantaire drank the last dregs of his coffee, tried to put his exhaustion on the side, and started to pull off his clothes. He wasn’t sure what he was expected to wear tonight, but he was sure he’ll find out in time.

As if reading his mind, Jehan appeared out of nowhere, with about a dozen outfits draped over their arms.

“R! You’re late,” they admonished, giving Grantaire a stern look, that would have been more efficient if they weren’t holding up what looked like a tiny glittery French flag.

“I know, sorry," Grantaire replied, and pointed at the skimpy shiny hell. "I’m not wearing that.”

Jehan merely smiled and put the thing on Grantaire’s table, ignoring his groan.

“Well, while you could just go out there naked, I really feel it’s better if you tease them.”

“Jehan, come on!”

“You guys are doing that European countries dance today, instead of on Sunday. Fantine says the crowd’s bigger tonight, there’s like three separate bachelor and bachelorette’s parties and you’re all prepared for the dance, you got this. You’re France, if that wasn’t obvious.”

Jehan blew him a little kiss, and off they went, distributing embarrassing costumes like some kind of weird fairy godparent. 

Grantaire sighed, wished for another cup of coffee and went back to stripping off his comfortable, normal clothes.

“Do you ever wish for a job where you don’t have to pretend you’re a European flag?” Éponine’s voice came from behind him, dripping in disgust.

“Think of the money, ‘Ponine,” he replied, though he agreed with her wholeheartedly.

It wasn’t always like this, to be fair. Grantaire liked dancing, he was finally confident in his body, his muscles were incredible, plus the money really was insanely good. He’s gotten very good at dealing with assholes, both the rude and the condescending ones, over the time he’s worked at the strip club. Sure, there were times, like that night for instance, when Grantaire did not want to go out in front of a lot of people wearing a frankly ridiculous and humiliating outfit, but he tried his best to find the joy in it. It was the money.

“Fucking hell, at least it’s not the animal costumes again,” said Floréal from the station next to Grantaire’s. 

“Shit, you’re right,” Éponine agreed, and Grantaire saw he shudder in the mirror. “A lot of weirdos came out that night.”

Grantaire hummed. “One guy actually asked me out, and asked if I could wear the fox tail on the date.”

Both Éponine and Floréal laughed.

“At least you didn’t have to be a seal. What the fuck’s sexy about a seal?” Floréal asked loudly.

“You make it sexy, Floréal,” Fantine said, startling all of them. She was the owner of the club, and had the habit of sneaking up on people. “Hurry up, you’re on in five.”

She gave Grantaire a stern look, and he nodded, hurrying with the costume. It was absolutely ridiculous. The more he looked at it, the more he hated it. It was basically just speedos in the colours of the French flag, with a weird cape-like thing that was probably supposed to go on his back. There was a pair of sturdy heels along with it, as well, painted as the French flag. Luckily, Grantaire knew about those, as they had to practice dancing and walking in them.

“Lots of glitter, Grantaire,” Jehan shouted at him as they hurried past him. “Lose the cape as soon as you can, drape it over someone, or something!”

“Sure thing,” Grantaire muttered and slabbed his chest with glitter. 

Sexy.

The rest of the frantic preparation went by in a flurry of activities, Grantaire trying to apply eyeliner while Éponine smeared glitter all over his back, and his thighs. He tried not to think of all the places he would be finding glitter in for the next week.

All too soon, they were lining up, girls fixing their hair, guys still fiddling with either glitter or eyeliner. They heard the announcer promising the crowd the number of their lifetimes, and then the music started.

Grantaire followed Irma out onto the catwalk, making sure his hips looked enticing. He let his muscle memory do the work, just going along with the music. It wasn’t a particularly difficult dance number, and it was pretty easy to tune out the catcalls and forget what he was wearing. 

He strutted over to the pole on the far right, grabbing it with one of his hands while he undid the cape with the other. Squatting down with his legs on either side of the pole in a way that he knew was hot, even though it felt stupid, he searched the crowd in front of him.

It turned out to be one of the bachelor’s parties. A few guys, some more enthused than the others were looking up at him. They were all hot, which doesn’t happen often in this establishment, and Grantaire grinned down at them.

“So who’s the lucky groom-to-be?” he asked, making his voice go deep and scratchy.

One of the guys laughed delightedly and pointed to a scrawny guy, blushing furiously in their midst. Grantaire winked at him, just to see him blush even more. He pulled himself up by the pole, throwing his head backwards for the show and then he spun around the pole once, twirling the cape around.

He walked down the stairs from the platform, swinging his hips and hoping he wouldn’t trip over his heels. Grantaire made his way to the blusher, lowering himself down on the man’s lap. He draped his arms around the guy’s neck, while grinding his hips and he slowly tied the cape around his neck. The guy looked like the worst superhero ever, with his blush making his freckles a lot more obvious than they would be. Grantaire could tell the man has never, ever had another man in his lap in his life, as he had no idea what to do with his hands and he was stuttering, not really saying anything.

“Good luck, sweetheart,” Grantaire whispered in his ear, leaning into him.

Just for fun, he bit the man’s earlobe and smothered his laughter as the man squealed. The song was ending, so Grantaire peeled himself off of the man, turned around and, for the finish, bent over in the way he knew people found sexy.

Sure enough, it worked, and Grantaire could feel money being put under the speedo, and he could hear the guys wooing and laughing loudly. He straightened back up, flashed the guys his best grin and walked back over on to the platform to do the last bit of the dance together with the whole group.

The minute he was safely backstage, Grantaire dropped into a chair, panting. The rest of the dancers were all pretty much doing the same, except for the second group, who were going out right after them. Grantaire gave himself a minute just to breathe, and then pulled out the tips from his underwear.

He was impressed, the guys tipped well, and it wasn’t even an official lap-dance, just a part of the number.

“I love stag nights,” he said out loud, to nobody in particular, but still got hums of agreement from around the room.

Next to him, ‘Ponine glared at him as she tried to rub something off her bra. He raised his eyebrows at her, and she huffed, shaking her head.

“Guy I danced on was so fucking awkward and over-eager and he spilled his red wine all over me. Fucking ridiculous,” she fumed. “Who even drinks red wine at a strip club? Get vodka, like a normal human being.”

“That sucks, man,” Grantaire agreed. “I can find Jehan for you?”

“Nah, I’ll find something myself. Thanks, though.”

“Where’s Gavroche?”

“I sent him to hang out with Bahorel. Safest fucking place in this dump,” she replied and Grantaire nodded.

As the head of security, Bahorel mostly hung out in a back room of his own, supervising other security guys, making schedules and whatever else management did. Grantaire was pretty sure he was teaching Gavroche poker, but at least the kid was safe.

“Grantaire, Floréal, you’re giving lap-dances,” came the stern voice of Fantine, “Irma, Éponine, Feuilly, you’re on poles. Jack, wait for Bill and then you two are on the platforms with Lily and Kate. You’re giving lap-dances as well, if people request it. Everyone clear?”

There was the usual sound of people humming, or muttering in agreement. Fantine nodded once, gave them all look-overs and left.

“You need some more glitter,” Éponine told Grantaire as she changed her bra.

Everyone lost their sense of modesty a long time ago, if they ever had any to begin with.

“Your make-up’s running a bit,” Grantaire replied, as he reached for the large tube of glitter. 

He changed from the French speedos to something a little less ridiculous, but equally revealing and spread more glitter on his biceps. 

“Thank fuck I don’t have a solo dance tonight, I don’t think I could do it,” he said when he was done. He leaned forwards, resting his forehead on the table and closed his eyes for just a few seconds.

“Did you sleep at all last night?” Floréal asked.

“A bit,” Grantaire muttered in reply.

“I’ll send someone for some coffee,” she said and Grantaire lifted his head to smile at her.

“I love you.”

“I know,” Floréal winked and finished up her text. “Come on, let’s go wriggle in some laps and then Maya’ll be here with coffee.”

“Your girlfriend’s gonna bring us coffee to the strip club?”

“Yes. She’s amazing.”

They went back into the club, to walk between the tables, shake their hips at people and wait for someone to call them over. There were other dancers working the tables as well, so it wasn’t just the two of them, which made it better. They would still get to do lap-dances, but this way, they didn’t have to hurry too much, and it was more relaxed.  
Floréal got called over to a table soon, and Grantaire walked over to the counter by himself. Cosette, Fantine’s daughter, was tending the bar and she grinned at him when she saw him. He winked back at her, but they couldn’t talk, as she was busy with the costumers.

Soon enough, one of the bachelorette’s parties called him over, waving money in the air and laughing loudly. He could see they were drunk already, which really only meant more tips for him.  
Grantaire gave the soon-to-be-bride a dance, focusing only on her and how tight she was gripping his ass. She paid for another lap-dance, this time for her friend and Grantaire did his best, making sure his body looked inviting and hot and also to rub as much glitter as he could on them. Like a present they couldn’t get rid of, but more pleasant than herpes.

When he was done, he found his tight pants stuffed with hundred dollar bills, and life was good.

Just as he was getting ready to walk backstage, to get rid of the money and see if Maya got there with the coffee yet, a guy caught his eye. It was one of the guys from the group of the blushing groom; the one with wild curls who seemed the most enthusiastic one of them all. Next to him, the hot nerdy one with glasses and an undercut was shaking his head, but smirking. 

They were both looking at one of their friends, an insanely hot blonde guy, who was sort of glaring at Grantaire, as he made his way over to them. On his way, he gathered the money and stuffed it in front of his pants, to make room for more tips. 

Life was good, but also more than slightly strange.

“Well, hello again, fellas,” Grantaire greeted the group. The groom was nowhere to be seen, this time, and it was just the three hot dudes. Grantaire has done worse.

“Hi yourself,” leered the curly-haired one. “Did you get more glitter?”

“Wanna find out?” Grantaire leered right back, with a wink. 

“Oh god,” the blonde guy groaned. “Does that ever work?”

“Enjolras,” both of the guys hissed, but Grantaire grinned.

“It’s a strip club. Anything I say works, as long as I use my _sexy voice_ ,” Grantaire said, dropping his voice down low for the last two words. He cocked his head to the side, and let his lips curl into a smile.

“So, which one of you gentlemen wants a lap dance?”

“Oooh, me! Me!” 

Grantaire was not surprised when the cute one with the curls actually raised his hand and bounced in his chair. 

“Courf,” the sulky one- Enjolras groaned, but still watched as Grantaire straddled his friend

“Enj, this is why we came here! Oh, your biceps are so hard,” Courf grinned as he touched Grantaire’s arms.

“Your boyfriend is right here,” Enjolras said, exasperated.

Grantaire snapped his head up, searching for some jealous boyfriend and already making an escape plan. That has happened before, which was the reason they had such good security in the place.

“Hi. I’m the boyfriend,” the nerdy one said, with a little wave. Adorable. “I don’t mind, actually. I think it’s hot.”

“I do my best,” Grantaire replied, grinding his hips down and grinned at the boyfriend. The man under him chuckled.

“See, even Combeferre is enjoying himself, Enj.”

Grantaire stopped listening to their conversation as the sulky dude started complaining again, and instead let himself lose in the music and the dance. Courf’s hands roamed his body as he writhed and bobbed to the rhythm, and he could feel money being tugged under his pants yet again.

The song finished and Grantaire pressed a kiss to the man’s cheek.

“Anything else?” he asked, staying on his lap. Some people wanted multiple dances, and this Courf guy sure seemed like the type.

“Actually, yes. Could you give my friend here a dance? You see, he still thinks coming here wasn’t a good idea, and I really think you could change his mind.”

Grantaire looked over to the blondie, who scowled at him.

“I don’t really like dancing on people who don’t want me dancing on them. Consent issues, and all that.”

At that, Enjolras’ eyebrows shot up and a blush worked its way on his cheeks. So, not only was he hot, he was cute as well. _Fuck._

“Enj, let the nice man give you a lap dance,” Courf said, pointedly looking at him.

Blondie sighed and sort of nodded.

“Fine,” he gritted out.

“Enthusiasm, I love it!” Grantaire grinned and untangled himself from Courf.

Grantaire swayed his hips, raised his arms in the air and danced in front of the man at first, making sure to give him time to say no. He circled him once, running his fingers in the guy’s hair and grazing his neck. As he came back round, he let his hand cup the man’s cheek and he bent over to graze the man’s earlobe.

“Say no, and I’ll leave,” he whispered.

He felt Enjolras shiver beneath his hands and he shook his head. 

“No, it’s fine. It’s, um, it’s good.”

Grantaire grinned and then straddled the guy properly. Before, with Courf, and the women, he used his tricks to arouse them as best he could, getting up on his knees and getting his crotch up to their faces, because he knew they would like it, but he could tell Enjolras wouldn’t appreciate that.

So, he stayed mostly in his lap. There was more of his hands running down Enjolras’ chest than with the others and he twisted his hips so that he could still dance.

Enjolras was not relaxed at all. His hands were firmly gripping the arms of his chair, he was blushing again and he was all rigid.

That wouldn’t do.

“Breathe,” Grantaire said quietly, smiling gently down at him. “You can touch me, I won’t bite.”

He didn’t say he would bite if Enjolras asked him to, as the guy looked spooked enough already. They got their share of people who weren’t too comfortable with strangers writhing on their laps, and Grantaire was good at telling how much he could push.

Enjolras made a funny little noise, but his hands came up on Grantaire’s back anyway. Grantaire grinned and gave him an encouraging nod. He lifted his hips a little, wrapped his hands around Enjolras’ neck and threw his head back to reveal his glittery throat.

He knew how he looked, and sure enough, when he looked back, Enjolras was swallowing audibly, his eyes hungry on Grantaire’s chest.

Before he knew it, the song was ending and he had to get up from the man’s lap. It was a shame, and as goodbye, Grantaire pressed his lips to Enjolras’ forehead. It wasn’t sexy, but it felt like the thing to do.

He stood up, and allowed Courf and Combeferre to stuff more money in his pants. He was about to ask whether Combeferre would like a dance as well, when Bill, another dancer, walked up to him.

“Flo wants you backstage, I can take over here,” he said and grinned at the three men.

Courf wolf-whistled and Grantaire nodded, giving the men a wave goodbye.

“It was lovely meeting you,” he said, blowing them a kiss that Courf returned, and then walked back to the backroom.

Floréal was waiting with coffee, and he slumped in a chair, groaning. 

“Oh my god, thank you,” he said gratefully, taking one of the cups from her. “Where’s Maya?”

“She’s out there, saying hi to Cosette. Did you know she’s getting married? Her fiancé’s here tonight, she said.”

“Wow, really? Do you know who it is?”

“No,” Floréal shook her head, “She got called away before she could say.”

Grantaire hummed and then closed his eyes to fully appreciate the coffee. 

A few minutes later, Fantine came around to tell Grantaire to go replace Bill on the poles, and Floréal went back to circling around the tables.

Grantaire spent the rest of his shift dancing on the poles, trying to ignore his muscles screaming in protest. He had the next day off, and he was already looking forward to spending the entire day on the couch. He’s going to wrap himself in blankets, make some tea, watch baking shows and not think about anything. Get some Chinese take-out. He could taste the sweet-sour soup already.

He gave some more lap-dances, but not with the group with the hot men. At times, he would still think of Enjolras, and how firm the muscles in his arms were, how soft his hair was… Then, Grantaire would remind himself what exactly he was doing and he would fore himself to focus on his dancing instead.

Still, he couldn’t help but gaze at the blonde head in the right corner from time to time. Until one time he looked, and they weren’t there anymore.

It was nearing four or five when Grantaire’s shift finally ended, and him and the rest of the dancers were free to go home. He walked to the bus stop with Éponine, Feuilly and Bahorel, who was carrying a sleeping Gavroche over his shoulder.

Éponine’s place was near Feuilly and Bahorel’s, so they often got the same bus back. Grantaire lived in the other direction, but the bus stop was the same. They were all too tired to talk. His bus got there first, so he waved his goodbye and dragged his aching body up on the bus.  
Even though he was wearing his normal clothes again, he could still feel glitter everywhere. He desperately wanted a shower, and he was starving and he felt like he could pass out at any given time.

He slumped into an empty seat and blearily looked around him. The bus had the usual surreal feel to it. Grantaire often felt like the world wasn’t the same in those early hours when he got off his shift at the club. He could vaguely remember some comedian guy saying something about the graphics not being up yet in those hours, and he agreed. He looked around himself, and none of it felt real. The lights were flickering vaguely, there was an old lady at the back of the bus knitting something yellow, and the driver was listening to country music. Plus there was Grantaire himself, the tired stripper that couldn't wait for his bed. The world didn't feel real.  
The ride back home would take about thirty minutes, and so Grantaire leaned his head back and closed his eyes. Just for a few seconds.

He let the background noise flow through him, the rocking of the bus lulled him into sleep – and then the bus stopped, letting overly loud people on it. There was only one word Grantaire could think of for the laughter that was suddenly on the bus, and that word was rambunctious. 

Grantaire sighed, and refused to open his eyes. He still had about 25 minutes left of the ride, and he was going to rest. He could hear the loud people settle in close to him, which only annoyed him further. 

The bus was mostly empty, people, come on.

He could hear someone shushing the loud people – or person, but they wouldn’t shut up.

“Oh my god!” the man shouted, and Grantaire shifted in his annoyed almost-slumber, trying to get into a more comfortable position. “It’s him, it’s the stripper!”

Grantaire snapped his eyes open.

The insanely hot guys from earlier were sitting a few seats away, looking at him. The curly one was grinning, and waving.

Grantaire grinned back, though his heart wasn’t really in it, and gave a small nod. He ran his hand over his face, trying to wake up a little bit. Blondie was staring at him in a weird way.

“Your groom ran off?” he asked, when he noticed the guy he gave the first lap-dance to wasn’t there.

“He went home with his fiancée. Oh, you might know her, actually! She’s a bartender at the club?” Curls told him excitedly.

It took a few seconds for Grantaire’s exhausted brain to catch up.

“Cosette? The blusher’s gonna marry Cosette?”

“You do know her!”

Grantaire nodded. 

His eyes slipped close without him really knowing, and he didn’t hear a word Curls was saying. Their conversation continued in the background and it was just loud enough so that Grantaire didn’t fall asleep, but they also didn’t bother him, for which he was grateful. It was perfect, as he didn’t really want to fall asleep, as he could miss his stop.  
The next twenty minutes went by quickly, and Grantaire forced his eyes open to peer out the window to see if they were near his stop. They were two stops away, so he didn’t really see the point in closing his eyes again.

He reached into his bag to fish out his keys and – couldn’t find them. He shifted in his seat, suddenly wide awake. Frantically, he searched his bag, and cursed himself for keeping so much crap in there. His fingers touched something soft and mucky, and he retrieved his hand with a disgusted sound.

“Everything okay?” Glasses-and-undercut asked, frowning at him.

“Can’t find my keys,” Grantaire muttered. “But if you want what’s either an old banana or a really old sandwich, I’m your guy.” He made a clicking noise with his mouth, winked and shot finger guns.

That wasn’t even the exhaustion; that was just him.

“ _Fuck,_ ” he muttered softly and checked for his keys again.

They were not there. They must have fallen out of his bag while he was getting dressed, somehow.

He closed his eyes, took a deep breath and got his phone.

“Jehan?” he said, when his friend picked up. “Jehan, beautiful Jehan, love of my life, please tell me you’re home?”

Jehan’s shift ended earlier and Grantaire hoped they went home and not – 

“No, sorry, honey. I’m at Parnasse’s.”

All the way across the fucking city.

Grantaire groaned, slumping down in his seat. He was aware the guys on the bus were looking at him, but he didn’t care. He was exhausted beyond belief and he wanted a shower and his bed.

“Why?”

“I forgot my fuckin’ keys.”

Jehan made a sympathetic noise.

“I could send Parnasse over to break in?” they offered, but Grantaire could hear the man in question flat out refusing in the background.

“No, we’d just have to buy a new lock. ‘sides, I could do that.”

“Well, what are you gonna do?”

“I don’t know. I… I’ll check if there’s an open window, or something, I guess. Worst case scenario, I break in.” Grantaire sighed, leaning his head on the backrest.

He didn’t want to climb the fire escape and he didn’t want to break in.

“Good luck, R. Love you,” said Jehan.

“Yeah, love you.”

He opened his eyes.

“Any chance you guys know how to break in somewhere without damaging the lock?” he asked, without really expecting a serious reply.

“No,” said Glasses. “But we do have a couch you can crash on, if you want?”

“What?”

“I realize it’s weird, and that you don’t know us, but we promise we won’t kill you and take your organs.”

“Unless you’re into that,” said Curls with a wink.

Grantaire just stared at them.

“Courfeyrac, I swear to god…” Glasses sighed.

“I… You really wouldn’t mind me crashing at your place?” Grantaire asked carefully. 

At this point, he didn’t even really care whether they wanted to harvest his organs or not, he just wanted to not have to climb the fire escape.

“It wouldn’t be a problem. You know Cosette, after all, and you got Enjolras here to loosen up, so…” Glasses trailed off, grinning.

“You like dogs, right?” Curls – Courfeyrac asked and Grantaire frowned in confusion.

“We have three dogs, that’s why I’m asking,” Courfeyrac explained.

Grantaire grimaced. “I love dogs. I’m also deadly allergic to them, though.”

“Oh, fuck!”

“Yeah.”

They were all quiet for a few seconds, and then the bus came to a halt, at Grantaire’s stop. He sighed and got up.

“Thanks for the offer, really. I’ll just… break in, I guess,” he sighed and walked to the door.

“You could crash at my place.”

Grantaire turned around to see Blondie looking at him.

“I have a couch, and no dogs.”

“Um,” Grantaire said, displaying a truly wonderful skill with words. “Sure, if you don’t mind.”

“I don’t,” Blondie said.

It occurred to Grantaire that he should really remember the guy’s name, if he was going to spend the night at his place.

“Okay, then. Thanks,” he said and sat down at an empty seat near the door.

“I’m one stop over.”

Grantaire nodded awkwardly, and smiled. It shouldn’t really feel different, sleeping over at Blondie’s instead of at the couple’s place, but it did. They were all insanely attractive, but Courfeyrac and Glasses were obviously in a committed relationship, while Blondie appeared to be single.

Hot, single, and Grantaire has given him a lap-dance.

When did this become his life?

“Oh, I’m. I’m Grantaire, by the way. Nice to meet you all,” he said, when he became aware that he hasn’t said anything for what felt like too long.

“I’m Combeferre, this is Courfeyrac and Enjolras,” Glasses said. “It’s very nice to meet you.”

“Yeah, seriously,” Courfeyrac said earnestly. “You’re a really good dancer.”

“Thanks,” Grantaire grinned. “You’re really good tippers.”

Enjolras’ stop was next, so Grantaire followed him off the bus, waving at Courfeyrac and Combeferre.

They walked in silence for a little while, until Grantaire couldn’t take it anymore. His exhaustion has been replaced with anxiousness and there was only so much time he could spend in awkward silences.

“Hey, thanks for doing this, man,” he said. “You really didn’t have to, and I really appreciate it.”

“Yeah. It’s okay, I’m happy to help,” Enjolras replied, shooting him a quick smile. “At least now I can make up for how awkward I was earlier.” He laughed, awkwardly still.  
Grantaire grinned.

“Nah, man, you were fine. My friend got red wine spilled over her bra by some over-eager jerk, and you were much better. Also, while you were awkward, at least you weren’t handsy,” Grantaire tilted his head pointedly.

“Oh. People… do that? I mean, I guess I shouldn’t be surprised, but I think I was still hoping people wouldn’t just grope the dancers like that.”

Grantaire hummed.

“You get used to it, and anyway, there’s security everywhere if people go too far.”

“That makes sense,” Enjolras replied.

When they got to his apartment, it was simultaneously not what Grantaire expected and also it made perfect sense. It was small, crammed and it was a mess. There were books everywhere, old cups of coffee and some plates. The plants on the windowsill in the living room were all dead or dying.

Grantaire watched with fond amusement as Enjolras hurried to move a pile of clothes from the couch, as well as some papers and what looked like a bowl full of pistachio nuts shells. 

“It’s…a bit of a mess,” Enjolras stated.

“I’m not judging. If it weren’t for my roommate, my place would look exactly the same.”

Enjolras huffed out a laugh and then walked out of the room. Grantaire set his bag down on the floor and stretched his arms up above his head. The exhaustion was coming back in full, and he couldn’t wait to crash on the couch.

So he didn’t wait. He pulled his hoodie, and his t-shirt off and rummaged in his bag for the gym pants he knew had to be in there somewhere. When he found them, he stripped out of his jeans and just as he was about to pull on his soft pants, there was a strangled sort of noise coming from the other side of the room.

Grantaire looked up to see Enjolras standing there, gripping a pillow and a blanket. He was blushing, clearly looking down Grantaire’s body. There was glitter still stuck there, and Grantaire grinned.

“Sorry. I’m not really shy.”

Enjolras nodded, a bit frantically. 

“I noticed, yes.”

Grantaire bit his lip so that he wouldn’t laugh, and pulled his sweats on. Enjolras gave him the pillow and blanket, and after an awkward ‘good-night’, he left.  
As soon as his head hit the pillow, Grantaire fell asleep.

He woke up with the sun shining on his face, and for a few incredibly disorienting seconds, he had no idea where he was. Then last night came back to him, and he groaned, pressing his face into the pillow. 

Then, he checked his phone. It was around nine in the morning, which meant he didn’t get much sleep, but just enough so that he wouldn’t be able to fall back asleep. He had a text from Jehan saying they would be back in the apartment in half an hour.

Grantaire got up, folded the blanket and changed back to his jeans and t-shirt. There were no signs of Enjolras being awake yet, and he was sort of grateful. Not that he wouldn’t be happy to see that face again, but he didn’t know how Enjolras would react to seeing him in the morning.

He milled around the apartment for a few minutes, looking around. His gaze fell on the poor, dying plants and he shook his head. He walked into the adjoining kitchen and filled a large glass with water, for a lack of any bottles. 

Grantaire watered the plants, picked some of the dead petals off and made sure they all go enough light. Then, he walked back to the kitchen and decided to make some coffee. As he searched for milk in the fridge, he got a sudden urge to do something nice for Enjolras, as he let him crash there without really knowing him.

So, he made pancakes. He was sure the noise would wake Enjolras up, especially as he dropped a knife at some point and it clattered on the floor. Enjolras did not wake up, though, and Grantaire was left alone with a stack of pancakes.

He checked the time again, and he had a text from Jehan, saying they were home. Grantaire tapped his fingers on the counter, finishing his cup of coffee.  
He saw a stack of post-its on the kitchen table, and he looked around for a pen. Then, he washed the dishes, covered the stack of pancakes and hoped that Enjolras would wake up before they got cold.

He left the note he wrote next to the coffee. In it, he thanked Enjolras for letting him spend the night, and, as a last-minute decision, he scribbled his phone number on it as well.

An hour later, as he was telling Jehan all about his night, Grantaire got a text from an unknown number, asking him out for some coffee. He grinned, typing back his enthusiastic reply.

**Author's Note:**

> Does it feel a bit rushed? Please let me know, if you have any comments or suggestions, or whatever. Thanks!


End file.
